


When Angels Fall

by HisokaTrash



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Angel/Human Relationships, Boys In Love, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Destiel - Freeform, Everyone Is Gay, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Dean Winchester, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Monster Hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisokaTrash/pseuds/HisokaTrash
Summary: On a hunting accident gone wrong, Dean accidentally shoots a creature instead of a fleeing monster. The creature in question turns out to be Castiel, an angel assigned to the Winchester's, tasked with watching over them. The bullet, engraved and imbued with magical properties, clips Castiel’s wings and leaves him grievously injured and unable to return to heaven. As such, Dean takes him in and cares for him.Obviously, they fall in love.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. An Angel of the Lord

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I just finished Supernatural and was upset with the ending. For everyone else in mourning over the (arguably shitty) end to an era, come indulge in some shameless destiel with me. 
> 
> Nothing incredibly exciting planned for this, but join along with me on this journey. Dean and Cas deserve that much, and a chance to be with each other without fear of some life-altering creature ruining it.
> 
> Apologies for minor typos and the length, I'm just trying to stretch that writing muscle again.
> 
> As always, you can check out my twitter @kingkaspbrak for updates.

The air was crisp, and ringing with tension. Dean could practically taste it. The anticipation settled on the ground, thick, muting the light of his flashlight. But the moon, full against the velvet of the night, lit the way. It was a gorgeous night for a hunt. He’d been trailing the nest of vamps for near upon a week, and this was the last one. He had been a crafty one; avoiding Dean the longest. But tonight the game was up.

Tonight, his hunt would end.

Up ahead, the sound of crackling branches sliced through the night. Dean adjusted his position and headed towards the new noise. The vamp wasn’t moving anymore, but it was too late. He pulled out his gun, loaded down with an innovative bullet Bobby was having him try out, and advanced. With breath held, Dean took aim at a patch of shadows darker than the trees, and fired.

A cry resounded throughout the night.

Off to the east, Dean heard something scramble away from him. Too late, he realized that whatever he shot was not the vamp.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean hissed, running towards… whatever he shot.

It was a man.

He was down on one knee, hands splayed out to support his fallen form, breathing heavily. He looked up, into Dean’s gaze, with eyes bluer than the sky. Something flitted across his face, an expression that Dean couldn’t quite catch. The man struggled to his feet, standing tall. “Dean.”

“Who are you?” Dean asked, holding his gun up. The man raised a hand up, halting Dean’s movement.

“My name is Castiel.” Behind the man, a pair of dark wings spread out behind him, blocking out the moon. On his left side, the wing trailed drastically but he tried valiantly to keep it up. He was bleeding profusely from a bullet hole close to the ligaments. “And I am an angel of the Lord.”

“What the hell?!” Dean demanded. But before the man - or, angel - could answer, he passed out and collapsed to the ground. Dean tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants, and walked over to Castiel. He had fallen down awkwardly on his wings. He pressed two fingers against the angel’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Satisfied, Dean gently adjusted the man so he wasn’t on his wings, and then lifted him over his shoulder. “Never a goddamn dull moment…”

  
  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Somehow, Dean managed to get the angel to the bunker. Sam was in the kitchen, cooking. He could smell something frying. Dean wanted nothing more than to crack open a beer and dive into a bag of pork rinds, but instead he had to patch up this Angel Of The Lord.

“Sammy!” Dean called out, laying Castiel down on the monster radar table. “Grab the first aid kit.”

Sam rushed into the room not long after that, holding clean towels, a cup of water, and the first aid kit. “What happened?” He stopped when he saw Castiel, passed out on the table. “Who is…  _ What _ is that?”

Dean put a rough edge in his voice. “An angel of the lord. Supposedly. Some angel he is, I accidentally shot him.”

“ _ You shot an angel?! _ ”

“Hey! Don’t say it like that,” Dean crossed his arms. “It was an  _ accident _ . And I brought him here, so I’m atoning for that mistake. Now, c’mon. Give me those towels.” Dean very gently spread out Castiel’s left wing and used the towel to carefully clean the blood. Sam prepped bandages close by.

“Did the bullet go through him?” Sam asked. 

Dean very gently lifted Castiel’s wing, feeling behind it for an exit wound. Although he felt muscles twitching at his prodding fingertips, there was no exit wound. “No. It’s still in there.”

Sam swore. “Great. We’re gonna have to get it out.”

Dean nodded. “Maybe we should give him a sedative?”

“Can you give an angel a sedative?”

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Hell if I know!” He went back to cleaning the wound out, and stopping the bleeding. 

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Sam asked after a while, voice tinged with awe. “An angel, Dean. I didn’t think they were  _ real _ . Like, I get monsters. But  _ angels _ ?”

“Yeah, he is,” Dean said softly. The angel had dark hair, pale skin, and a light smattering of stubble. Sam hadn’t even got to see those blue, blue eyes, either… “This is weird, Sammy. An angel? Why was he in the forest? And that fucking vamp got away because of him!” 

“Now’s not the time for that,” Sam said. “What did you shoot him with?”

Dean looked away from Sam, kicking awkwardly at the ground. “...One of Bobby’s new Godzilla bullets.”

“Godzilla bullets?”

“They kill everything Sam. And it’s a cool name!”

“You shot an angel. With a bullet called Godzilla.”

“Hey! Accident! I  _ accidentally _ shot an angel with a bullet called Godzilla. If anything, he should be thanking me. That’s a badass way to go!”

Sam nodded sarcastically. “Right. I’m sure when he dies, he’ll thank you for taking him out with the goddamn Godzilla bullet. Jesus. I’m gonna call Bobby and see if he’s got any tips on how to remove that thing.”

As Sam left, Dean turned his attention back to the angel. He wasn’t really sure what to do other than pour some antibiotics and bandage the wound up. Would antibiotics even help an angel? Eventually, he decided on hydrogen peroxide, it was hard to go wrong with that. But when he poured it on the wound, the angel cried out and suddenly sat bolt upright.

“What’s happening? Where am I?!” Castiel demanded, backpedaling away from Dean wildly. His hand shot for the inside pocket of his trench coat and withdrew a silver blade. “What did you do to me?”

“Woah, woah!” Dean said, holding his hands up slowly. “Listen. There was a huge misunderstanding. I was hunting a vamp and I accidentally shot you. Nothing fatal, I don’t think. But it’s a nasty bullet and I don’t know how to treat it.”

“I know that,” Castiel snapped. “I know everything you were doing. And I don’t need your human medicine.” He held up his palm to the wound, and frowned. His hand began glowing a soft, warm, light, but nothing happened to the wound. Castiel frowned deeper and tried again. The result was the same.

“Uh. Was something supposed to happen?”

The angel glared up at Dean, fire in his eyes. “ _ What did you shoot me with?!” _

“Something new that a friend is experimenting with! It was a bullet soaked in Saint’s blood, I think. And tempered with demon’s blood. I’m not entirely sure, but he said it could kill anything.”

Castiel tried once again, waving his glowing hand all across his wing. Nothing. The effort seemed to exhaust him; he collapsed back into a chair. “You humans and your ceaseless curiosity. Demon’s blood and Saint’s blood? Who would ever think of that?”

“Bobby,” Dean said, with a helpless grin. “He’s a mad genius, if I’ve ever seen one. I’m sorry. What can I do?”

“Nothing simple, I’m afraid, if the bullet is truly made from Saint’s and demon’s blood. You may continue with your human medicine.”

Dean said nothing, but continued to gently pat Castiel’s wounds. The angel hissed when the hydrogen peroxide touched him again. His right wing flexed, stretching out to its full length. His left wing tried, but the bullet hole prevented it from extending much. “That stings.”

“Huh. Who would’ve guessed that an angel of the lord is a big wuss.”

Before Castiel could retort, Sam walked back into the room, holding a large, ancient tome. “So get this. I just got off the horn with Bobby, and he thinks there is a poultice we can make to help cure the wound. It looks like we have all the ingredients here in the bunker, except… the seeds of a pomegranate? I’m not quite sure, it refers to something called the fruit of the Asphodel, which as far as I can tell, is a pomegranate. But I can just run to the store and grab one, it should be simple enough.”

Sam looked up, and saw that Castiel was awake. “Oh. Hello, my name is-.”

“Samuel, I know,” Castiel said. “And it is not a regular pomegranate. It is referring to a fruit from Hell, that grows in the meadows of Asphodel. Pomegranates, usually, although they take many forms.”

“You… know my name,” Sam said softly. “How?”

“Yeah, actually, touching back on that,” Dean said, beginning to bandage up Castiel’s wing. “You said earlier that you know everything that I’ve done. Can we talk about that?”

“I am an angel,” Castiel said, as if it were obvious. “Specifically,  _ your _ angel. I was the unlucky celestial being to be assigned to the Winchesters. I am tasked to watch over you, protect you, and at times, to guide you.”

“We… have an angel?” Sam asked, sitting the tome down on the book. “How long have you been with us?”

“A very long time.”

Dean finished up with the bandages and sat back to admire his handiwork. “And you just now decided to make yourself known?”

This caused Castiel to pause. An unreadable expression flitted across his face, and he became suddenly fixated with a spot on the table. “I have my reasons.”

Dean shot Sam a confused glance, but Sam just shrugged. “Okay. So where can we find this fruit?”

“Hell,” Castiel said simply. “They do not last long outside of the underworld.”

“Of course they don’t,” Dean sighed. “I need a beer. Want anything, Castiel?”

“I do not require human nourishment.”

“Of course you don’t. Sammy? A word?” Sam followed Dean into the kitchen. Dean wasted no time in cracking open a bottle of beer. He sat down on a corner of the table, looking exasperated. “What the hell, dude?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t know,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “I mean. A guardian angel? That’s weird, even for us.”

Dean took a deep drink. Guardian angels were not the weirdest thing to happen to them, but it was certainly up there. Although there was something nice about a good and holy creature watching over them. Especially one so handsome as Castiel… “Maybe. But imagine how nice it is, too. Don’t we deserve a break like this?”

“Sure, but… Let’s be wary about this. We shouldn’t leave him alone. I’m gonna hit the lore, why don’t you test him, make sure he isn’t a monster or anything.”

Dean nodded, finishing off his beer with a final swallow. He followed Sam out into the hallway, where Sam turned left and Dean continued on into the main room. Castiel was sitting exactly where they had left him, his dark eyes watching Dean intently. 

“What’s with the intensity, Terminator? Cool it. I’m gonna do a couple tests on you, make sure you aren’t some kinda monster. Sounds good?”

“Fine.”

Dean splashed some holy water on Castiel’s face, cut him with a silver blade, and the demon blade. Castiel did not react to any of them. 

“Are you satisfied yet, Dean?” Castiel asked plainly.

“I suppose so. But listen, maybe you should stay here until we can heal you. We have an extra bedroom - I’m not sure if you sleep or anything - but we can take care of you.”

“No.” Castiel’s answer was without hesitation. He eased himself off the table, and stood. “I appreciate you taking me in, but I belong in heaven. They will know how to heal me.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay. Do I need to take you somewhere, or..?”

“No.” Castiel looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. After a minute, nothing happened. 

“Are you sure you’re an angel? Not much magic seems to be happening around you,” Dean said flatly.

Before Castiel could reply, a high pitched ringing made Dean fall to his knees in surprise and agony. Sam came running from the library, hands clapped over his ears. “ _ Dean? _ ”

Dean shook his head, covering his own ears and grimacing. Castiel was looking up at the ceiling, devastation turning his features downward. After what felt like an eternity, the noise slowly subsided until there was nothing left but silence.

“What was that?” Sam asked, breathless. “What the  _ hell _ was that?”

“I was speaking with heaven.”

“That was angel radio?!” Dean scoffed. “They couldn’t figure something out that was less supersonic? Jesus.”

“I cannot go back,” Castiel ignored Dean’s question. “They said I cannot go back. Not until the wound is healed. I am tainted with the blood of demons.” He looked at Dean, fury blazing in his eyes. “This is your fault.”

“Hey, hey, hey, wait,” Sam said, nonchalantly sliding himself between his brother and the raging celestial being. “It was an accident, Castiel, and Dean is going to do everything in his power to make it right.  _ Right, _ Dean?!”

“Yes, of course,” Dean agreed. “I did wrong by you, Castiel, and I’m going to make it right. We’ll find a way to get the magical fruit from hell, and fix you up. I promise you.” 

Castiel cast a dark look at him. “Fine. It is not as if I have a choice.”

“C’mon. I’ll take you to the room. You should get some rest.”  
“No.” Castiel drew away from Dean’s outreached hand. “Samuel shall show me. I think you have done enough for one night. Research the fruit. It dwells within the meadows of Asphodel. Pray you find what you seek.”

Dean’s eyes flicked over to Sam’s, who nodded once. “Okay. I’m sorry, Castiel. I am. I’ll go read up on that fruit.”

Sam led Castiel away, down a hallway opposite the library. He stopped by the second door on the right, and opened it for the angel. “Here. It’s not the Four Seasons, but it’ll make do. The bathroom is two doors down, on the left… If you use it. I’m going to bring you some food in a little bit; I know you said you don’t eat human food, but I’m going to treat your wound like a human wound until we get that poultice. You need to keep your strength up.”

“I understand. Thank you, Samuel.”

“Sam, you can call me Sam. For what it’s worth, Castiel, we  _ are _ sorry. Please don’t let Dean’s stupidity ruin our one good thing. It’s really nice knowing that something is looking out for us.”

Castiel nodded once, and began to walk into the room. He stopped for a moment, hesitating. “Human stupidity pales in comparison to celestial curiosity.”

Before Sam could question  _ that  _ cryptic statement, Castiel closed the door on him. Sam sighed heavily. “Never a dull moment.”


	2. Loss of Grace

Dean spent the entire night pouring through the thousands of books, ancient texts, and dusty tomes the bunker held. He found three promising books that mentioned the meadows of Asphodel, which he set aside to read further. He leaned back into his chair, wincing at the ache in his bones.  _ I just need to rest my eyes, just for a minute. _

“Dean? You’re up early.”

Sam’s voice roused him. Dean startled, jerking out of his seat. “W-what? No, I haven’t even gone to bed yet. What time is it?”

Sam set down a cup of coffee and sat across from him. His eyes were bleary with sleep as he checked his watch. “Uh. Eight. I just got up. Definitely did not expect to see you.”

“I never went to sleep,” Dean groaned. “I’ve been hitting the books. I lost track of time.”

“You’re really worried about Castiel, huh?”  
“Uh, no duh? I shot a freaking _angel_ , Sammy. That’s a Go To Hell Free Card, right there. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200!” 

Sam laughed a little, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. I understand. Why don’t you get some rest, and I’ll hit the lore. You’re no good to anyone like this.”

Begrudgingly, Dean nodded. “Fine. But I’m checking on Castiel first. He’ll need those bandages changed, if it’s still bleeding that heavily.” 

“Fair warning, you’re probably the last person he wants to see. He’s across the hall, second door on the right.”

Shrugging, Dean pushed his chair back and eased himself to his feet. He called over his shoulder as he left the library, “What’re you gonna do?” First, he collected the first aid kit, then he went to Castiel’s room. He was dragging his feet to the room, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling uncomfortable in his chest. Apprehension, nerves, and maybe even excitement. When he reached the door to Castiel’s door, he knocked twice, quick and sharp, then waited.

“Enter.” 

“Hey, morning, Castiel,” Dean said softly, pushing the door open. “I, uh, I need to check your bandages. Did you sleep?”

Castiel’s hair was ruffled slightly, and his eyes were bleary with sleep. He had taken off his shirt to sleep, so Dean could now see where his wings attached to his back. The left one was falling against the bed, but the right one seemed fine. When Castiel stretched, it stretched with him. Dean bit down on the inside of his cheek, suddenly at a loss for words. “I did, unfortunately. It is not normal for an angel to sleep. I normally do not require it. That worries me greatly.”

Dean blinked hard. “Maybe that means you’re getting better. Can I check your wounds?” 

Castiel nodded once, and Dean pushed forward, closing the door. He set up the first aid kit on the bed, beside Castiel’s leg, and sat down next to him. He carefully stretched out Castiel’s left wing, making the angel grunt. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered, reverently. Moving even more carefully, he gently peeled the bandages off. The wound had festered. The flesh around it had turned green, and was pussing. The feathers, dark as a raven, were barely clinging onto his skin. Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh. That doesn’t look good.”

“Does it look as bad as it feels?”

“N-no, no it’s not that bad.” Dean slathered antibiotics onto the wound, making Castiel cry out. “Okay, maybe it’s a little bad. Nothing some iodine can’t fix.” 

Castiel made a noncommittal grunt, but Dean could see him grimace with pain. He cleaned up the rest of the wound, and wrapped it in fresh bandages. “How does it feel?”

“Not good, Dean,” Castiel said flatly. He tried desperately to stretch the wing out, but it wouldn’t move. He looked so sad, it made Dean feel something desolate.

Hearing Castiel say his name made him feel something, too. Something warm and treacherous. It was seeing Castiel, the stretch of skin from his neck to his shoulder, and having the sudden realization that it was begging to be kissed.

_ Where the hell did that thought come from?! _

Dean shook his head and thought about the frayed edges of the sheet covering Castiel’s legs. “I know. I’m sorry. Maybe I can get you some painkillers?”

“Human medicine does not-.” Castiel stopped himself, slumping over. “I am not sure. But I  _ am _ sure that you need rest. I can feel your exhaustion. Sleep.”

“You can  _ feel _ my exhaustion?” Dean asked in disbelief. “What does that even mean? What can you feel about me?”

Castiel had an unreadable expression on his face. “Most things. I am your angel, Dean. We are attuned. It is my job to watch over you, and protect you.”

“And yet, here I am protecting you.”

“From your own doing.”

Dean scoffed, but Castiel had him there. Instead, he slowly reached out and very gently ran his fingers through the feathers of Castiel’s wings. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing for it, Cas.”

“Cas,” Castiel repeated. His eyes had fluttered shut, and something like a sigh escaped him. The feeling of Dean’s fingers was comparable to what humans would call pleasure, and it felt dangerously good. When he reached a certain spot, electric shivers shot down his spine. His wings, even the injured one, fluttered. “Oh. Stop.”

Dean did, withdrawing his hand almost immediately. “I’ll get you a Motrin or aspirin or… something.”

“No. Sleep.” Castiel didn’t wait for an answer, but rather pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead and repeated the command. Dean instantly collapsed into sleep, across Castiel’s lap. For a minute, in the sudden privacy, Castiel allowed himself a moment of indulgent behavior. He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, reverently. With a smile, he whispered to himself, as if tasting the word anew, “Cas.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


\---

  
  
  
  


Dean awoke with a violent start, into pitch blackness, jerking upright with a gasp. He fumbled around for his phone, switching on the flashlight and checking the time. “2 p.m.?!” He hissed, scrambling up from the bed. 

When the  _ fuck _ had he fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered doing was changing Castiel’s bandages. Actually… Was he still in Castiel’s room? Switching on the lamp, it was made obvious that yes, he was still in Castiel’s room and no, the angel was not there.  _ What the hell?! _

Sleepily, he stumbled out of Castiel’s room and followed his nose into the kitchen. Sam was frying eggs in a large pan, while Castiel sat stiffly at the table. They seemed to be chatting amicably about something or another, as Dean walked in he caught the tail end of it.

"...and so, as he’s clinging onto the pole for dear life, hovering above what looks to be certain death, Vader tells him that he, okay you so aren’t ready for this, he is his  _ father _ .”

“No!”

“Yes! That’s exactly what Luke says! And after that revelation, Vader asks him to join him and rule the galaxy together. But instead, Luke jumps off the pole, seemingly falling to his death!”

“Sam.” Dean said, leaning against the doorframe. “He hasn’t even been here for twenty-four hours and you’re already trying to sell him on Star Wars? C’mon, dude.”

“It’s a great franchise, dude. Everyone deserves the opportunity to see it.”

“Except for the new trilogy?”

“Except for the new trilogy,” Sam said angrily. He flipped the eggs onto a piece of toast, and handed it to Dean. “Eat. You’ve been dead for hours. Castiel, I’ll make you some eggs, too.”

“I don’t even remember falling asleep,” Dean said, sitting next to Cas. “It was like, one moment I was changing Cas’ bandages, and the next I was asleep. Super weird.”

“Well, you  _ were _ up all night. Eat.”

Dean took the toast and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. “Nuh uh. This was something else. I don’t fall asleep like that, and I’ve pulled all-nighters before.”

Sam grunted in agreement, cracking open a couple more eggs into the pan. He fried them in silence, while Dean ate. Castiel was watching him from the corner of his eye, Dean could feel it. It was a soft but probing gaze, not necessarily watching him but studying him intently. It made Dean feel itchy and restless all at once. He finished the eggs in three more quick bites, and pulled the carton of milk from the fridge to wash them down. 

“Dean, you know I hate it when you do that!” Sam protested, once again flipping the eggs on a piece of toast. “God, that’s so gross. Here, give it.” He took the milk and wiped the spout off. “Castiel, I’m sorry. I’ll get you some orange juice. Here, eat the eggs.” 

Castiel accepted the plate gingerly. After studying the eggs carefully, he finally took a hesitant bite. All this while Sam fretted over the milk, and Dean laughed to himself. Castiel surprised himself by feeling terribly and violently hungry, and attacked the eggs with a newfound fervor. 

Sam slid a glass of orange juice towards Castiel. “Here. Lots of vitamins, it’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said softly. He took the glass and drank it down quickly, setting the glass down on the table with a gentleness that tugged at something inside Dean’s chest. “Thank you for all of this.”

“Of course, Castiel,” Sam said, with those signature puppy-dog eyes. “It _was_ my moronic, shithead brother who shot you in the first place.”  
“ _Hey_ , you don’t have to constantly remind him of that,” Dean hissed, swatting at Sam harshly. “But you _are_ welcome. Seriously. It’s the actual least we can do.” 

“Here, don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll clean up. Dean’s gonna check your bandages, and then you should get some more rest. Go on.” Now Sam turned his puppy-dog eyes to Dean, but they turned urgent and direct.

Dean gave a sharp little nod, and lurched himself from the doorway. “C’mon, angel boy. Let’s check those wings.” 

Castiel followed Dean, albeit much slower, back to his room. The sheets were still tossed about from where Dean had slept on them, and the room had the unfamiliar musk of a human male. Castiel wouldn’t exactly describe it as unpleasant, especially knowing that it was uniquely  _ Dean _ . And there it was again, the stirring of celestial curiosity, that sin of angels of which almost always causes them to Fall. It hurt; but something about the pain made it wonderful, too.

Dean pulled out the first aid kit, and sat down on Castiel’s bed. He went through the contents, unhurried and with a casualness that only Dean could conjure, and again Castiel felt something so warm and desperate in his chest that it overwhelmed him. His wings, nearly dragging along the ground now, fluttered up, straining against the pain.

“Cas?” Dean asked, in his warm and deep voice. “What’s up? Why’re you looking at me?”

There again his wings strained upward, unfolding to their full length unbidden.  _ Cas. _ It was such sweet music to him. It caressed him; warm hands cupping softly his face and lips covering him with kisses that tasted of bourbon.  _ Cas _ . It filled him with such human longing, that for one stunning moment, his celestial self seemed as if forgotten.

“Dean,” Castiel replied, now standing tall with wings stretched wide. “Oh, Dean.”

And then promptly passed out, falling to the ground with a sudden and startling crash.

“Cas?!” Dean cried, jumping off from the bed and awkwardly catching the angel. “Cas, wake up! Cas?!” When the angel did not respond, Dean began hollering for Sam.

Sam threw open the door, gun drawn. “What?! What happened?!

“It’s Cas, he passed out. I don’t know what happened, he just dropped dead. Sam, he’s not responding!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I found a spell earlier, when I was reading through the lore. It supposedly fortifies angel grace. It should wake him up. I’ll go get the stuff.” Sam took off, running out of the room.

Dean held Cas closer to him, shifting so his wings weren’t at an awkward angle. “C’mon, angel boy. Wake up.  _ Wake up. _ ”

Castiel’s eyes squinted open, looking back at him. “Dean. I must tell you something.”

“Hey, don’t strain yourself,” Dean shushed him. “You just passed out. Go steady, I don’t want you blacking out again.”

“No. I must tell you-.”  
Sam burst through the door again, carrying an awkward assortment of items and bowls. He dropped to his knees, letting the items dash across the ground. “Here, Dean. Grind these together. It’s star anise and rosemary.”

Dean took the herbs and mortar, and ground them together, while Sam put together another concoction and muttered Latin beneath his breath. Dean added his ground herbs, and Sam mixed them together.

“I need a binding agent,” Sam said, pulling his knife out. “Something sacrificed to beget the health of the angel. I can-.”

“No. Dean shall.” Castiel’s voice was firm, despite how cloudy his eyes looked. He held firmly onto Dean’s arm, with an intensity that belied his current condition. “I want Dean to do it.”

“Uh. Okay?” Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged and passed Dean the knife. He sliced himself evenly across the palm and let his blood drip into the concoction. Sam lit a match above it, and continued chanting in Latin. When he finished, he whispered Castiel’s name and dropped the matching into the bowl. A flame roared up from it, bright blue and blazing. Castiel cried out, all his muscles suddenly tensing, and Dean held him tightly. When the flame died, Castiel collapsed back into Dean and fell silent.

“Cas?”

“I am okay. I feel better. I should rest.”  
“Let me check your bandages,” Dean said softly. “Then you can sleep.” He helped Castiel up onto his bed, and then gathered all the spell ingredients for Sam to take back to the storeroom. “I’ve got it from here, Sammy. Thank you.” 

Sam took the ingredients from Dean, nodding once and then leaving. Dean once more sat on the bed, cleaning up the first aid kit from where it had fallen. 

“You can’t scare me like that, Cas,” Dean said, unspooling the bandages. “I thought you were dying.”

“I was.” Castiel said simply, and said no more after that. 

Dean too stayed quiet, and gently peeled off the bandages. The wound had grown much worse; the flesh had festered even greater, turned black now. The poison was visible among his bloodstream, and the little veins in his wing were pulsing a bruised purple. He had lost several feathers. Even now, as he pulled the bandages back, more feathers fell. “Oh, Cas…”

“It is bad. I know it is. I can feel the poison flowing through me. It is an awful feeling. I am… festering away to nothing.”

“No! No, you’re not.”

“Clean the wound all you will, Dean. It is for naught. Human medicine does little for celestial beings, and less for demonic ones.”

“Then I’ll find a way. I’ll get the Asphodel fruit. I am  _ not  _ letting you die. Not when it’s my own goddamn fault.”

Castiel said nothing, but Dean continued with the antibiotics and bandages anyway. The silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but pregnant with things unsaid. When he finished, and cleared away the first aid kit, Castiel grabbed onto his arm suddenly. 

“We are connected now, you know. It was your blood that fueled the spell. I feel you, Dean. Now I shall always feel you, right here.” He pointed with his free hand at his heart. 

“I  _ won’t _ let you die,” Dean said again, and then he had to leave because he became so overwhelmed with some emotion he  _ refused  _ to identify that he couldn’t handle himself. 

With a new fervor, Dean marched to his room and changed into sturdier clothes. These were clothes made for hunting - they felt worn and familiar, unlike these new feelings in his chest. Those were new and uncomfortable and he  _ did not like them.  _ Sam caught him as he was climbing the stairs to leave the bunker. 

“Hey? Where’re you headed?” Sam asked, frowning. 

“Out. To find the goddamn cure. Cas is about to die, and I won’t let that happen.”

“Well wait up a minute, let me get dressed and I’ll come with you.”

“Nope, that’ll take too long. Stay here, and watch Cas. I’ll be back soon.” He didn’t wait for Sam’s answer, but stormed off instead, the door to the bunker slamming loudly shut behind him.

It didn’t take Dean long to find what he was looking for, at all. Rather, he drove straight on for about ten minutes until he came to a dusty crossroads. He parked the Impala off to the side, and got out. From the trunk, he got a single gun.

Then he got to work. 


End file.
